


Nowhere To Go & No One To Be

by Fanfics_n_heck



Category: Moral Orel
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sneezing, Snot, Whump, and also being sad, sick Clay Puppington, torturing Clay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfics_n_heck/pseuds/Fanfics_n_heck
Summary: Clay Puppington is sick and hates himself. Sad face. (Posted this on my tumblr too, but figured I'd post my more obscure garbage (like this) on AO3 as well.)Warning for some spoilers for Season 3 since Season 3′s vibe differs greatly from Seasons 1 and 2. Takes place a few weeks after events of Nature Part 2, most definitely before events of Sacrifice, Nesting, and Honor.Maybe I’ll write a follow-up with more snz if anyone really wants it (but lbr I don’t think so :p)





	Nowhere To Go & No One To Be

**Author's Note:**

> This exists on my tumblr as well, but I'm not linking because my blog is nasty :p  
> Have fun!

Clay notices something is wrong when he doesn’t reach straight for the liquor cabinet of his study. 

Smoking? Forget it. Inhaling plain Moralton air makes him cough more than Reverend Putty did when he forgot to have a drink of water prior to a sermon seven years ago… and then again just recently; he probably will again in the next seven years, too. 

Any distraction he has to get away from the world interferes with his achy, uncomfortably warm body, so as soon as he arrived home from his ‘stinkin dead end job,’ he found himself face down on his bed, with his nose dripping onto his pillow.

Disgusting. Bloberta will have to clean that, but it’s not the worst thing that could be on his sheets.

His mind replays the events of his day, and he has foggy memory of… something Orel did wrong again; well, not  _wrong_ exactly, considering it likely came from his own or the reverend’s teaching, but being the mayor meant keeping up appearances, and keeping up appearances meant disciplining his child and denying any personal responsibility for whatever led him to this point. 

His glossy eyes focus in on the Lust Guard blocking his view of anything outside his tiny sleeping space. He doesn’t recall Bloberta asking if he is decent, so he figures no one has bothered to check on him; unsurprising, considering he tends to prefer being alone. This time, however, he longs to be held. He remembers Bloberta’s cold hands, which, despite being a product of no circulation, would feel much nicer and colder on his forehead given his fever. These thoughts move to his mother, who, despite treating illness affecting her ‘precious only ever’ as ‘evil,’ and recovery as ‘a miracle,’ remained by his side more than anyone ever had. He wonders, if she were still alive, would he be here alone on this single mattress without hearing a word said to him since he arrived home?

“Hr’ _CH **EU** H_!”

Clay grumbles something unintelligible, even to himself. If lifting his head without feeling dizzy felt even nearly possible, he imagines he would be willing to call Danielle, and that imagination soon drifts to the mental image of Danielle rubbing vapor rub on his chest. The sticky menthol scented substance only exists in the theater of his mind, but he swears he can feel his sinuses clear for a split second before inevitably closing themselves again.

The room remains silent, though frequently interrupted by helpless coughing fits that catch no attention from anyone in the house. Clay can’t help but feel he deserves this loneliness, and doesn’t bother attempting to draw the attention of his family. He knows they despise him, anyway.

_“I hate you.”_

Deliriousness plays Orel’s words from the camping trip as if he were in the room with him, but Clay is still alone.

Clay can’t argue with the fever-created echo.

He hates himself, too.


End file.
